


Quietude

by AphroditesLaw



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, F/F, Some graphic descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 14:05:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16369031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphroditesLaw/pseuds/AphroditesLaw
Summary: 1854, New Hampshire. Clarke is on her deathbed when a strange doctor pays her a visit.





	Quietude

**Author's Note:**

> Had to do something for Halloween. I hope you enjoy this one!

The bedroom was not spacious, but it had a sizable library and even more books littered on the floor. There was only one window, sealed shut and with iron bars on the outside, keeping the biting winter cold at bay. Abigail Griffin, the mistress of the house, assured Dr. Woods that though the room might seem like a prison cell, it was only for Clarke’s protection.

Clarke was the frail young woman in the bed at the center of the room. She slept, but it was not a restful kind of sleep, noticeable by her clenched fists and labored breathing.

"Dr. Woods," Abigail whispered after the doctor had laid eyes on Clarke. "What do you think? Is there something to be done yet?”

Dr. Woods was a slight and youthful woman, but she carried herself like she had seen every disease in the world and Abigail was inclined to believe it. Though twice her age, Abigail felt strangely subservient.

"There is often something to be done, Mrs. Griffin,” the doctor calmly said, though her expression was grim.

She had reason to be, as Clarke's body was ravaged by disease. Her skin was like paper, her nails were cracked, and there were black lines going down her hands and neck, stretching over her skin like tendrils sucking the remaining life out of her. Anyone who saw this young woman would know she should have died long ago now. It was a wonder Abigail had yet to accept it.

"Anything to keep her longer,” she told the doctor.

It became clear, then, to Dr. Woods, that Abigail had more regard for her own suffering than her daughter's. She would allow her to pump anything and everything into this body, so long as it was kept alive, and even if it only delayed the inevitable.

"She is in a great amount of pain," Dr. Woods stated aloud.

"But you can do something, can’t you?" Abigail asked hurriedly. "Dr. Woods, _please_ \-- I need my daughter.”

The doctor pressed her lips together. "I would like to be with her alone now.”

It was not a request. Abigail inclined her head and stepped aside. "Of course. I'll be in the sitting room. Ring the bell if you need anything at all.”

Abigail left the room and closed the door. After her footsteps stopped echoing down the hallway, the doctor walked to the chair by the bed and sat down.

If not for the sound of Clarke's breathing, anyone would have thought her a corpse and pulled the damp covers over her face. The doctor did not seem bothered by the sight, however, examining the black lines on her hands with a curious eye.

Finally, Clarke slowly awoke and their eyes met for the first time. Clarke was not startled, but seemed rather struck by the young woman looking at her.

"You're not what I expected..." she rasped.

"You expected me?” The doctor enquired. Her voice had softened, nothing like the flat tone she had used with Abigail.

Clarke nodded. "My mother told me you had found my case interesting and asked to examine me."

The doctor watched as Clarke made an effort to sit up against the large pillows propped against the headboard. Her covers slipped down, revealing protruding collarbones and the same black tendrils running down her body, disappearing beneath the hemline of her gown, no doubt spreading out further.

"Well, doctor? Am I still interesting now?” Clarke asked.

"Please, call me Lexa.”

"I wonder what you will call me in your notes -- patient 124? Something more flowery?”

"I like the sound of your name, Clarke.”

Clarke frowned, as if she did not know what to make of this young woman. "You’re not like the other doctors,” she said, sounding less guarded now.

"I am here to make you a proposition," Lexa murmured, looking at the marks and back up into Clarke's eyes. "One that will rid you of this affliction."

Clarke sighed. “You should already know that this illness is in my blood, and my lungs, and my bones. It’s been feeding inside me for years, and every day it spreads further. I may not have your training, but I already know that you're mistaken. There is no cure."

"No, there isn’t."

Clarke blinked and then let out a weak laugh of disbelief. "Well, at least you're more honest than the others."

Lexa looked away. "What I mean to say is… that there is no cure for your illness, but there is one for your death."

Clarke did not seem any more interested. "Do you know how many doctors have come here and sat where you sit? I have had to ingest every antidote you can imagine -- herbs; potions; even snake juice and insects. Whatever it is you wish to sell to my mother, do it quickly, but spare me the cruelty of your lies."

"It is not a lie."

Clarke sighed. "Well go on then, recite your lines. I have nothing else to do but listen."

Lexa shifted in the seat. "Death is the end for many, but there is… for some… the possibility of a new start afterward. There are concessions to make, but some time ago I heard of you, and your illness, and I knew that you might be open to this possibility."

Clarke frowned. "Life after death?"

"Yes."

"Oh. You're no doctor at all," Clarke suddenly realized, staring at the green of Lexa's eyes. "You're one of them." It was said without fear or panic, like it was a simple fact.

" _One of them_ , Clarke?" Lexa asked quietly.

"Yes, I've read about you." Clarke looked toward her vast library, as if searching for the very book in question. "You who drinks the blood of the living -- I recall it now. You know, writers would have us believe that you are only myth and folklore, but I think that when a story persists for centuries… there must be some truth to it."

Lexa seemed awed. "You are remarkable.”

Clarke chuckled feebly. "So I'm right?"

Lexa nodded.

"Well… I'm afraid that my blood is not at its best."

"I have not come here for an easy feed."

" _Easy_ ," Clarke repeated with a small huff. "I will have you know that I can still put up a fight. My nails may be brittle and my teeth may be rotting but I can still scratch and bite."

Lexa smiled at the surprising amount of pluck Clarke showed. It was short-lived, however, as Clarke abruptly started to cough. With a trembling hand, she reached for the metal bowl on her nightstand and coughed into it, letting out a splatter of blood. Finally she stilled and slowly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, fingers brushing over her dry and cracked lips. She suddenly seemed self-conscious, unable to look back into Lexa's eyes, as if touching her face had reminded her of how different she looked in comparison to the woman sitting by her, with the smooth skin and lustrous hair.

"Please don't apologize," Lexa said. "Shall I open the window? There is dust everywhere in the air."

Clarke shook her head. "My mother would have a fit. Doctors have insisted that cold air would be too much on my lungs. That one step outside would be the end of me. I am her little bird… kept in its cage."

"Rapunzel in her tower."

Clarke recognized the reference immediately and brightened, though her breathing was still strained. "You've read the Brothers Grimm?"

Lexa nodded. "In fact, I knew the tale before it appeared in their collection. It was greatly inspired by a French novelist's work."

"Yes, I remember reading this. She herself was influenced by an Italian collector."

Lexa smiled. "And so on."

Clarke attempted to respond, but another hacking cough stopped her. This time she did not have time to reach for her metal bowl, and felt blood dribble at the corner of her mouth. She quickly covered it with her hand, deeply embarrassed.

Lexa offered her a handkerchief.

"I couldn't-" Clarke declined.

"It's all right. You've no need to be embarrassed. Take it; I have many more."

Clarke took it hesitantly before wiping her mouth and chin. Her teeth and fingers remained bloodstained.

"I suppose... you must be used to the sight."

"More than you can imagine."

"Does it… make it difficult for you? Seeing blood?"

"No."

"Because I'm ill?"

Lexa nodded. "It isn’t attractive to me."

"That's rather rude," Clarke pointed out.

Lexa seemed surprised she had taken offence. "I apologize, but I can assure you that it is for the best."

Clarke smiled. "Don't fret, I didn't mean it. I've no illusion anyone could desire me in any way. But you know -- I think I was passably attractive once."

"You’re beautiful."

"My mother may have taken all the mirrors down, but I live in this body. I know it looks as sickening as it feels."

"Your body can heal," Lexa assured her, and then remembered why she had come. "Clarke, I would like for you to be my companion. You and I… we would walk this world together. You would get to live again."

"A companion?" Clarke asked, confused.

"Yes. It is a lonely existence without one."

Clarke rested her hands on her lap and observed Lexa intensely. "Why me? Why come all this way for a bedridden girl who has less strength than a newborn? Sheltered from this world for years; ignorant of new customs and new laws. How could my companionship possibly be of value to you?"

Lexa shook her head. "Your illness has condemned you, it's true, but where many would have gone mad with sorrow, you chose to fill your remaining time wisely. You are exceptionally well read -- see how your knowledge of my kind has prevented you from fearing me. You understand death and how precious life is. You would not wallow in self-pity if given a chance to walk this world again. That is one reason, at least."

"No, I don't understand death," Clarke replied. "It's just that I've come to realize that nothing could possibly be worse than this -- pain every minute of every day; a mind screaming to live inside a crumbling body. So this end… I will take it over my pain."

"Death does not have to be the end."

Clarke smiled feebly. "You're insistent."

"And you're curious… are you not?" Lexa asked.

Clarke shrugged. "Tell me your other reasons for choosing me."

"You know languages."

"Four, but I've always wanted to learn more."

"It is a great quality. We will be able to settle in many different places."

Clarke seemed to grow more entertained by the promise of such adventures. "What else?"

"You are already at the end of your life… and so will not hate me for taking it from you."

"Ah. So you want a grateful lackey."

"An equal, I assure you."

"Hm. Is that all?"

Lexa pressed her lips together, hesitant. "You have no one but your mother. It is best to start anew without the pull of grief keeping you in the past."

Clarke looked down at her blood-splattered palms. "I used to have friends, you know… They used to write to me. Even visit."

"I believe it."

Clarke's breathing became more labored. "There was even a boy. He was walking with me when I first collapsed in the garden, years ago now. After the doctors advised me to stay in bed, he would come and sit by my side." She seemed to recall that time vividly, as if she often thought about it. "But there was one day that I… My cough worsened, and there was no blood yet, but I would make these horrible, barking sounds, certainly not a sound you'd presume a young lady was able to make. And when I grew paler, and the black vines started to spread… It must've been hard for him to look at -- for all of them."

"You will make new friends," Lexa offered.

"I do often wonder what has happened to them," Clarke mused, lost in her thoughts. "If they have gone to travel the world. If they have become grocers and seamstresses and poets, perhaps even mothers and fathers by now."

"Why hurt yourself like this?" Lexa questioned. 

"It doesn't hurt me. It brings me joy."

"Then you are even stronger than I thought."

Clarke brought the covers closer to her body, bothered by the sudden chills creeping down her spine. "You thought about me?"

Lexa nodded slowly. "For years you've fought an illness that most have succumbed to in a matter of days. Yes, I've thought about you, and each time that I have, I've known it was you I wanted by my side."

Clarke bit her lip. "There is… a lake, not too far away from the house. I used to swim there when I was a little girl. It was rare to know how to swim, but my father insisted. I… I would like to go there, one more time. I would like to feel the water around my body."

"It is not yet frozen," Lexa said. "I can take you there."

Clarke looked toward the window at the grey skies. "I thought… I thought the sunlight-"

Lexa scoffed mockingly. "Your storytellers give their monsters the most inane weaknesses. Light... the wrath of God… mustard seeds... those are only to make their stories easier to digest. Invulnerable monsters offer no moral high ground for mortal men to stand on."

"Are you invulnerable, Lexa?"

"Does the spider tell the fly where her web is?"

Clarke arched a brow. "Are you trying to trap me?" 

Lexa chuckled. "Figure of speech."

"Hm. I suppose we would have much to discuss you and I."

"Yes, I believe so as well."

Clarke inhaled slowly, and Lexa could see that it was painful for her, like there was a knife sinking into her lungs.

"Lexa, would you… would you take me there now? Would you take me even if I declined your offer?"

Lexa glanced at the crusting blood on Clarke's face and the black vines on her neck, branching out without any sign of stopping. Frail did not adequately describe this body. It was a battlefield, marked beyond recognition, and Lexa had never seen anything like it. It was not a kindness to keep it locked here. 

"Yes, I would."

Clarke seemed to grow more hopeful, even happy. "I… I've not been outside in years."

"It's beautiful. Covered in snow."

"It's just that… My legs…"

Lexa stood up and uncovered the thick covers, throwing them at the foot of the bed. She saw Clarke's legs for the first time, atrophied and just as horribly marred by the twisting parasite.

"It's all right."

"But my mother," Clarke whispered, "She'll be in the sitting room. She'll see us leave."

Lexa walked toward the window and swiftly opened it. She pulled out the iron bars like they were sticks of butter.

"You have been in your tower long enough."

"H-how did you…?" Clarke asked.

"There is a lot more to us than what storytellers write. Are you ready?"

Clarke swallowed thickly before nodding. Lexa slipped her arms beneath her knees and her waist, lifting Clarke off the bed she had not left in years. But something unsettled Lexa -- Clarke weighed nothing at all and felt as cold as the stone walls of the house. She was dying, Lexa knew this, and though death was so familiar to her, a part of her wished it had not come to this. Clarke had suffered for so much longer than necessary.

"Close your eyes," she advised softly.

And though she did not look to make sure, a part of her knew that Clarke had complied. She slipped out the window and landed with her on the snowy grounds of the Griffin manor. She watched as Clarke opened her eyes and took in the landscape before her: the stretch of snow toward the great forest ahead, the frosted trees, and the orange sun starting its dip below the horizon.

Weak and already exhausted from being awake and speaking for longer than usual, Clarke rested her head on Lexa's shoulder and closed her eyes again. _Just for a minute_ , she thought, just a minute before she drew enough strength to look at everything she had nearly forgotten. She could feel her heart slow, and her mind become dizzy, but if she could just cling to her wish...

"How long?" She mumbled, desperate to see the lake again.

"We are here, Clarke," Lexa said.

When Clarke opened her eyes, the doleful evergreens surrounding the lake were the first thing she saw. There was a great white coat of snow surrounding them, yet the lake itself had not frozen over, just as Lexa had said. The water was so still, so beautiful, melting the few flakes of snow that fell on it.

Clarke felt tears in her eyes; felt heartache so intense that it twisted her insides even more than they already were.

"I'm scared, Lexa."

"Of death?" Lexa asked quietly.

"Of… of leaving this world having felt nothing but pain," Clarke whimpered. "I don't remember anything else. I don't remember a day without it."

Lexa waited a moment before walking toward the lake and stopping at the edge. "Will you allow me to take your pain?"

Clarke looked at the water and finally nodded. She felt Lexa move and realized that she had started walking into the lake, showing no concern for the freezing water. In fact, Clarke didn't feel cold either, even in her gown, even with her bare feet dangling. She clung tighter to Lexa's neck and watched as Lexa went deeper and deeper, until the water was up to her hips and Clarke's body was just inches away from touching the surface. 

Slowly, Lexa brought Clarke down onto the surface, until she was floating with her arms and legs spread out. 

Clarke started gasping and trembling, but not from the cold. "Lexa, I... I don't feel anything!"

Lexa knew that Clarke meant her pain had vanished for a precious instant, submerged by the water. She watched as Clarke took deep, painless breaths and smiled, squinting up at the sky and the flakes of snow above and around them.

"It's so perfect," Clarke said, her eyes lighting up for the first time, devoid of agony.

Neither knew how many minutes passed before her smile started falling. "I don't want to leave this world yet," she whispered brokenly.

Lexa's hands stilled on her back as she met Clarke's eyes in a silent question. 

"You've chosen me," Clarke said. "No one has ever done that before."

"I must hear you say it."

"Yes, Lexa, I will be your companion." 

Lexa's arms wrapped around her waist as she pulled her up. Clarke held onto her neck and allowed Lexa to hold her tighter. She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling terribly cold. Her disease had been rendered numb, but it was awakening now, and it was furious. 

"I will teach you everything I know," Lexa told her. "You'll live again, Clarke -- and fully. You'll see the auroras in the North and the pyramids in Egypt. You'll have many libraries, full of new books."

Clarke started shaking, barely able to breathe anymore, and as she felt a dark haze fall over her, she pressed her forehead against Lexa's shoulder.

"It hurts… it hurts…"

Lexa brushed her lips against her tears before whispering in her ear. "Breathe, Clarke… I know it's painful, but breathe one last time for me."

She felt Clarke's chest expand against hers and knew that it was time. Without further thought, she sunk her teeth into Clarke's neck in a swift bite. Clarke let out a guttural cry but did not struggle in her arms, instead embracing her wholly.

Lexa could taste it on her tongue, the pain in Clarke's body, the sickness in her blood. It was foul, nauseating, but Lexa drank more of it, as fast as she could, hoping to rid Clarke of her anguish, hoping to put an end to this terrible suffering.

She felt some of her blood drip down her chin; saw how it seeped into the water and stained their clothes. She heard Clarke's last breaths so close to her ear.

"I can't feel…" Clarke said so quietly, on the verge of a great unknown, "my body…"

Lexa felt her lips on her neck then, murmuring something, an echo of a plea, _thank you, thank you_ , and finally Clarke's head lulled back and her body stilled.

Dead. She was dead, and for a second Lexa looked into her eyes and saw nothing but peace. Her eyes… they were the only part of Clarke left undamaged by her disease. Lexa saw quietude in them, the last of Clarke's anguish gone forever, and she wondered if perhaps it was crueler to take it from her. Perhaps she could leave her be… perhaps she could release Clarke completely. Only, Clarke had not asked for peace. It was life she craved, a better existence than the one she'd had, and Lexa had promised it to her.

She laid Clarke on the cold bank of the river and felt how her hands slid down her back and fell limply in the snow. She missed the tight cling of her; her cold lips on her neck.

Without another thought, she closed Clarke's eyes and bit into her arm, and then the other, sinking her teeth deep and her venom even deeper. When she pierced into her neck, this time, she did not take from Clarke but give to her instead. She gave a part of her, the greatest part: the gift and curse of life after death.

When finally done, Lexa felt the need to pull air into her still lungs. She could not fall ill and yet she felt Clarke's illness coursing through her, seeking to spread aggressively, to take root in her bones and fester in her brain. Her venom would kill this intruder soon, but Lexa could not believe how Clarke had lived with it for so long and so bravely. She wondered if Clarke would stay in the ground longer because of it -- if her body would require more time.

It didn't matter. She would wait a thousand years if need be.

With great care, she carried Clarke deep into the forest, so deep in fact that it was well into the night when she found the perfect place to bury her. It smelled like the great evergreens surrounding them, thick and dark and protective, and Lexa dug the hole between ferns and a patch of flowering moss.

She laid Clarke in the hole and stared at her one last time, wondering how her body would look next she saw her. She was eager for Clarke to feel the strength of new bones and new blood.

Lexa could not wait for her companion; could not wait to show her just how beautiful life after death could be.

"Sleep well, Clarke."


End file.
